Work Text:
Firelight warmed the expanse of the living room where Ilya and Shane were currently ensconced under two blankets. Shane had the remote and was scrolling through Netflix trying to decide what movie they should watch when he felt Ilya shiver violently next to him.
“Why is it still so cold?” Ilya grumbled, blowing hot breath into his hands and rubbing them together. Outside wind whipped through snow covered trees and Ilya’s shoulders drew up to meet his ears.
Shane looked at him, fond though he was at Ilya’s disgruntled manner, he hated that he wasn’t comfortable, then removed himself from the warmth of the blanket, before Ilya could protest.
“Nooo,” Ilya cried, reaching for him.
Shane quickly began shutting up the house, insulating it against the cold. “It’ll help. I should’ve closed them hours ago,” Shane replied, arm extended to close the drape.
Ilya let out an enormous sigh, but then he got up too and padded off to the bedroom in search of more layers.
“Where are you going?” Shane laughed, watching Ilya retreat wearing both blankets over his shoulders.
“More clothes,” he called back.
In their bedroom Ilya shuffled into the closet and began to comb through their outwear with his free hand. Coat, coat, jacket, cardigan, jacket, sweatshirt, sweatshirt. Then Ilya caught sight of white fleece. He reached out to touch it, something both foreign and familiar. His eyebrows knit together, but as he pulled it out the realization dawned on him. Sochi. 2014.
Instantly, Ilya was back there, standing up in the rafters looking down as graceful skaters spun mid-air and executed perfect pirouettes. He was sulking, hiding from his family after the disgraceful loss to Latvia. Ilya could almost feel the ache of his jaw from all the clenching of that trip.
And then there was Shane. Shane Hollander in Russia standing in front of him looking soft and warm in his national attire. Ilya would have laughed about it, Canada being all warm-and-fuzzy, but he hadn’t been in a laughing mood. And seeing Shane hadn’t made it better. Shane, kind and polite Shane. Boring Shane. He was only twenty feet away, but it may as well have been a world away for all the good it would do Ilya. All he wanted was to bridge that gap, pull Shane in for a hug and never let go. He remembered being particularly aggravated by the sweater, white puffy fabric calling to him like some kind of siren song.
So now he gave himself grace as he pulled the sweater off its hanger and gripped it to his chest. The thought of wearing it elated him so instantly he dropped the blankets and moved to put it on. Then he had a better idea. He looked up and reached for the first available hoodie, a large black one he knew he liked. Quickly, he pulled it on over his shirt, wrapped himself once more in the blankets, then took the fleece back into the living room to where Shane was waiting for him expectantly.
Ilya’s heart took a moment to restart seeing Shane there, looking all domestic and comfortable, sometimes it still struck Ilya that he got to have this. He smiled to himself then stood at the end of the couch.
“What are you doing with that?” Shane asked curiously, pointing to the fleece with his chin, arms crossed to retain heat.
“You remember? Coming to talk to me at Olympics?”
Shane grimaced, “Yes, of course,” then looked repentant, “You were not happy to see me.”
Ilya’s eyebrows drew together to create a pained expression. “Is not true. I was happy. I was always glad to see you. It was complicated. And it was Russia.”
“And you’d just lost--”
“Yes! I know, I was there,” Ilya waved him off, irritated by the memory. “So...” Ilya lifted the fleece. “What you don’t know...what I didn’t tell you...is that I really wanted to hold you that day. Hug you. You looked so...warm.” Ilya absently petted the jacket, then stopped. “Come here,” he instructed Shane, “I want you to put it on.”
Ilya beckoned to him and Shane obliged, grinning. He scrambled up and strode over to Ilya, taking the fleece from him. He unzipped it and put it on, zipped it back up, then sort of stuck his arms out as if to present himself to Ilya.
Ilya beamed. “I am going to hug you now.”
Shane laughed and nodded, “Of course.”
Then he held out his arms and Ilya melted into them. He tucked his chin into Shane’s neck and just breathed, arms wrapped loosely around Shane’s waist.
“I wanted to hug you too, you know,” Shane said.
“I know. It was terrible,” Ilya replied. “I want to hug you whenever I want.”
“Now you can,” Shane said, running a hand through Ilya’s hair. “Any time you want.”